Page 43 of Floored

He measured the grounds and added water to a very normal-looking coffee maker, the kind I used in my apartment back in Seattle.

My old apartment, I mentally corrected. The one that wasn't waiting for me when I came back. That pit opened up again, and I kicked it closed in my mind.

"You were smiling awfully big for someone who hasn't had caffeine yet," he said.

"I was texting Claire."

"That's your twin sister, right?" he asked.

"Yeah." When I sighed, he chuckled under his breath. "I miss her," I admitted.

"That'll happen."

While I watched him move around his kitchen with such ease, I tucked my knees up against my chest and thought of all the things I didn't know about Jude.

"I haven't even told my family yet."

Jude gave me a surprised look. "Why not?"

"Claire knows," I amended. "But I think I'm running out of time on the rest of them."

Before he said anything, he reached into a small cupboard and took out a small container, then two white plates. On the plate, he put a scone and set it on the table in front of me. Out of the fridge, he produced a container of jam, then clotted cream.

"They'll want to know everything," I explained. "How I feel and what I want and what's going to happen ..." My voice trailed off.

"What happens next is on you and me, yeah?" He took a seat across from me, sliding the cream and jam in my direction. "If we're making our own rules and all."

"Yeah."

His eyebrows lifted. "You don't sound sure of that."

"I am." I inhaled. "But a big family that's also an opinionated family, and not just big and opinionated, but we've always walked through big life stuff together, you know? They'll have thoughts. And I'll know all of them in less than five minutes of dropping the proverbial bomb."

"Ahh," he answered carefully.

For a moment, I waited to see if he'd elaborate, but he simply stayed quiet.

"Is your family like that?" I asked casually.

"No." He nudged the plate closer, my cue to stuff my face with more carbs. Like I needed encouragement there. "Compliments of Mrs. Atkinson," he explained. "I try not to eat too many of them during the season, but I figure this is a good morning to indulge a bit."

There was an undercurrent to his words, and a warmth in his tone as he said them, but in the wake of my messages from Claire, I wasn't sure I was ready to explore what that was. Making our own rules was great and all, but I still didn't know what the hell Jude and I really were. And for now, I was okay with that. So was he.

But even knowing that, Claire was right. I was afraid to tell my family because it meant I had to face all the questions when none of the questions had answers.

About me, me and the baby, me and Jude and the baby, and me and Jude. Separate categories with lots and lots of unanswered questions.

As I broke open the scone and spread the cream over the surface, followed by the jam, I thought about how rarely I needed to explain the dynamic of my family to someone who had no backstory.

"I'm going to tell them today."

He watched me carefully. "All right."

"Have you told your family yet?"

"No."

I waited for him to elaborate. But again, it was just ... that one word. There was no emotion in it, just like there was no change in his eyes or mouth. Huh.

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